


Diplomacy Gone Wrong

by emperor_blue



Series: Unrelated Crossovers For My Enjoyment of Writing [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Diplomacy and fictional politics, Drama, Ed doesn't like this and neither does Harry, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Magic and Alchemy, Mystery, bodyguarding mission, suspicion and distrust everywhere, this is a cross-post and an edited rewrite, wizards and alchemists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emperor_blue/pseuds/emperor_blue
Summary: With a shaky relationship between the alchemy-ruling country of Amestris and the wizards of Britain, the Ministry makes a compromise involving a diplomatic party of two plucky state alchemists to Hogwarts. And when Albus Dumbledore makes another request of those said two plucky state alchemists concerning an even more plucky wizard boy and the darkest wizard of all time, Edward Elric is less than thrilled. Diplomacy might not have been a good idea after all.Rated T for canon violence, colourful language and Umbridge.





	1. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed is called to Central for a rather peculiar mission with a certain Flame Alchemist. He soon learns a new word that'll form the basis of this story - 'Diplomacy.'

_To the Fuhrer-President,_

_Given the circumstances, you are well-knowledgeable of the uneasy relationships with our country and yours, and the plight between your state alchemists and our magical community._

_During the previous letter you sent us, with “decisions to improve our countries’ two-way relations,” the Ministry and I have held your words in thorough discussion and deep thought, and have finalised a decision on our plan._

_Enclosed in the accompanying envelope are further details._

_Yours sincerely,_

Cornelius Fudge

_Minister of Magic  
_

_/-/-/-/-/_

_To Fuhrer-President King Bradley,_

_With the sources we have discussed earlier, what are your future plans with your representatives? They will be tended with the Order at their arrival. Please respond urgently with the accompanying owl. We have no time to waste!_

Albus Dumbledore

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

/-/-/-/-/

 _Diplomacy_ . That was the word in English, in the book that translated Amestrian words into English, a book with simple phrases and sentences from that certain universal language. One of several books in his case about the English language and how to speak it. _Pronunciation – di-plo-ma-si (noun). 1. The profession, activity, or skill of managing international relations, typically by a country’s representatives abroad. 2. The practice of dealing with situations in a tactful, sensible way._

So that was how you said the word. It was a very strange one. But it had made perfect sense, Edward Elric mused, to use that word to describe a situation – _his current situation,_ to name a certain one. There had only been one catch, however.

Neither meaning of the word _diplomacy_ had said anything about said country’s representatives being forced upon this against their own will. 

Ed felt that he should have been expecting this, however. After all, he had accepted to be the State Military government’s lapdog in exchange for resources normal alchemists could barely dream of accessing. Being their lapdog meant unwavering loyalty to the military, and doing whatever they told him to do.

War and conflict and situations such as the Ishval Civil War had crossed his mind whenever he thought about the circumstances the military could and would put him into (and wished that he would never be involved in). He never expected _this._

He sighed and closed the book, almost with brute force and stuffed it into his case.

He scanned his eyes around his surroundings. The huff and puff of the train mechanics, the hustle and bustle and chatter of the Amestrian crowd and the smell of the steam were all familiar to four years’ experience on travelling around the country with his brother. He heard the stationmaster call the time out to the crowd waiting on the platform, the next train express that would be arriving (in half an hour), and the route it would be taking. Ed almost scoffed; everyone had seemed too preoccupied with their own business to bother listening to him. The stationmaster had noticed this too, surprisingly – he cut short in the middle of his sentence, then ambled away.

Ed had arrived an hour early at Central Station, but he had already forgotten his reason. Was it simply because he wanted to taunt Colonel Mustang for his ‘tardiness’? Or maybe it had been no reason at all?

His brother sat next to him, holding a map of all the express train routes in the country, scanning his gaze over the one Ed would take. Al was the only one out of the two who had remembered it was the day of the mission anyway. He had woken his older brother up from his Central Hotel bed and had reminded him of the mission. 

Maybe that was why he was regretting his decision to be part of the mission. It had ruined his sleep. 

“I would like to go,” Alphonse said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “To meet the magical community and read books from their school library and see what they think alchemy is.” He tapped his armoured chest. “But with this body, they’ll probably think I’m an automaton.”

Ed scoffed. “If we could, I’d be happy to trade places with you. But why, though? There’s nothing fun about going on a mission when we could be looking, you know, for the Stone…” 

If his brother’s face could pout, Ed was sure Al would be pouting now. “Brother, you get to learn new information about the community, and you get to make friends-”

“That’s a bold assumption from you, Al, thinking I’ll be making friends there, or even talking to them at all.”

Al sighed, then returned to his own thoughts, and Ed returned to his. He stared at Central Station’s platform number, 5. It reminded him of a fractional platform he had seen a month before as a handwritten note on a certain file. 

“Ah, there you are, Fullmetal.” 

Ed looked to his right, where that oh-so-familiar voice had spawned from, and there was Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, accompanied by his aide Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, and a small party of soldiers of smaller ranks (Ed had seen judging by the stars on their shoulder straps, they were either privates or corporals). 

The soldiers (bar Mustang and Hawkeye, of course), stared at Ed in strange wonder. He sighed and responded with no words but a grey, lifeless stare back. They saluted him, acknowledging Edward’s equivalent rank as Major, then turned back to the Flame Alchemist and his aide. Ed almost felt sorry for them. 

“Hello, Colonel,” Ed heard Alphonse greet the Flame Alchemist politely, and he smiled and tipped his hat in reply. His smile turned to a smirk upon facing Edward, then he turned to talk to Lieutenant Hawkeye. He seemed like an outlier among the group of soldiers - unlike the blue soldier’s uniform all members of the State Military were required to wear, he had a plain white button shirt with a black tie under a black coat. 

Time seemed to be frozen. It was always strange how time worked differently depending on what you were doing - Ed having found this out after three years travelling the country. For situations like Ed waiting for a train, or back in his childhood as he waited for class to end in the last class of the day, it seemed like hours before the train arrived or the school bell to ring. On the contrary, there were times when Edward accessed the alchemy area of the library and stayed there for what seemed like a few minutes before the librarian had told him he had been reading for hours and that it was time for the library to close. 

He sighed. Hopefully, time would be on his side this year. Get the diplomacy mission over and done with, and go home. Oh, and that mission from that mysterious APWBD, which had details still undisclosed to Edward.

Edward stared back up at the clock. _Twenty minutes._ He could survive waiting twenty more agonising minutes.

Maybe he could survive one whole year away from Amestris as well. 

_/-/-/-/-/_

“Diplomacy.” That was what the Colonel had said. That was why the mission had existed in the first place.

The military had called him back as soon as his arm had been fixed.

Britain was the name of the country. Great Britain. Or the United Kingdom. Ed had done his research, finding out that that certain place was something called a ‘micronation’, the only difference between Great Britain and the United Kingdom being that one of them contained more lands in their name than the other. He remembered calling this ‘ridiculous,’ and that those British (or United Kingdomish) people make up their minds. Al had seemed undeterred, however. He’d just continued reading the book and talking rapidly about how he’d want to go to the United Kingdom one day after he and Ed had gotten their bodies back (Ed had settled calling it Britain Al had decided on calling it the United Kingdom).

But to make it even more confusing, Ed had remembered, was that they were going to this certain place in the United Kingdom, called England, which was a nation but not a nation at the same time. It had a capital, too, called London.

“Diplomacy,” the Colonel had said. To strengthen relations between Amestris and England. Especially since the former had fallen out of favour with several countries Ed knew (their neighbours Drachma, Creta and Aerugo to name a few), the Colonel had explained. It was all because the whole world had frowned upon Amestris’ military-government and the numerous riots and civil wars that took place in the country.

In further explanation, Falman had entered the conversation with a perfectly fake ‘ahem’, piping in to say Britain’s government had never been in favour of Amestris right from the start, when its kings and queens had more power than the modern day (which confused Edward even more. There was a government but also kings and queens? A monarchy?). It never bothered Edward, to be honest. His main priority was to take back his arm and leg and his brother’s body. He watched, indifferent, as Falman, Fuery and Breda began a highly political conversation, while Havoc sighed, breathing out cigarette smoke while polishing his rifle.

The Fullmetal Alchemist didn’t know too much about the west, but he knew alchemy was definitely largely unknown in that area, known only as a legendary practice to unsuccessfully turn metals (or basically any other substance) to gold, unaware of how alchemy had been perfected to become the practice Ed knew today. He brought this up.

The Colonel went on to explain a legend, that alchemy in the West had _not_ died out, instead of perfecting the practice it had already been there for hundreds of years in the first place. It was what the ignorant and unlearned called “magic.”

“Rightly so,” said Falman, who had exited his conversation with Fuery and Breda, proceeding to say (with a book on that certain topic that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere) you couldn’t call the magic “alchemy” anymore – it had wavered so far from alchemy it had not even been close to the alkahestry used in Xing.

Ed yawned and told them to get on with the mission details already. Al, who had been earnestly listening, politely got the Colonel’s attention, asking, “Sir, what does this have to do with us?”

The Colonel had sighed, straightening up the paperwork and pulling out another folder. “This… the _magic_ community has requested from the Fuhrer a delegation of Amestrians to stand for our country in their society. In our presence there, I’m sure they’ve requested some… tasks for us. For diplomacy.”

That didn’t sit well with Edward. He raised his eyebrows at this. “Tasks? Delegation? So what the hell does that have to do with us?”

“It has everything to do with you.” The Flame Alchemist who had been sitting in front of him traced his fingers through a pile of folders and pulled out one of them. “In fact, Fullmetal, are one half of the delegation that’ll be sent.”

The Fullmetal Alchemist sat up immediately. “What?!”

The _tasks_ in question had, Ed had learnt as Mustang had responded to his splutter, involved improving relationships between Britain and Amestris; diplomacy. Well, not exactly _all_ _of_ Britain. It was the minority magic group again, those _“witches”_ and _“wizards”_ and their strange _“Ministry of Magic”_ government that had asked for the delegation. According to Mustang, the Fuhrer would send an Amestrian diplomatic party of two to a certain school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – which was, apparently, a place where all the magic people went to use magic. Then he connected the pieces of the puzzle together and frowned.

“I get it,” Ed said, scowling. “I have to go to the magic school because I’m their age and I’m sm-”

“You’re the _age of a certain cohort of pupils there,_ Fullmetal,” Mustang cut in. Glancing down at the open folder and files in his hand, he said, “According to the Fuhrer, it’s a mission that’ll expect you to mingle with the school’s fifth-years, talk to them, befriend them. Be more sociable to people your age than you are now.”

 _Sociable…_ Ed scoffed. Being sociable didn’t help him find the Philosopher’s Stone. There was no point starting now. Being sociable, moreover, was more his brother’s personality.

“You’ll have to stay in Hogwarts for the duration of the whole school year – that is, from September to July. During the holidays, you’ll still be staying in Britain.”

 _But the Philosopher’s Stone…_ Ed bit his lip. They still had to look for the Philosopher’s Stone… or any other way to gain their bodies back. “This trip is a waste of time for Al and me,” he said angrily. “I have other… matters to attend to! This isn’t a good time to be hopping off to a wizard school!”

It took a few more minutes for Edward Elric to calm down. His brother had tried to calm him down, saying even if they were both in Britain, they’d do their best and that they could even find a new method to restore their bodies; he’d said if alchemy and magic were connected, it would probably be worth it to visit the magic world and look for answers there. Ed wasn’t convinced, but he had calmed down to the point he put his hands in his pockets and huffed.

“Am I allowed to say no?”

Mustang smirked. “Yes, then we can drag you off to be court-martialed for disobeying orders from the Fuhrer himself.”

And to make it worse… Ed cursed when he heard the next bit of news. It made him want to go on the trip less and less.

“What do you mean, _I have to go with you?!_ Out of all the people they could’ve chosen, like Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes or-”

“What, want to go with Major Armstrong instead?” Mustang smirked at him again. Ed cursed quietly. Even thinking about the Major and their (much-less-than-comfortable) trip to Resembool made his ribs shriek in agony. (Not to mention the smell of sheep had lingered on Al after he had spent a couple of hours in the livestock car as a piece of “luggage.”)

“And Al can’t come with me?” Ed knew the reason immediately. The same reason Al hadn’t taken the State Alchemist exam. He scowled, prompting his brother to start another conversation to reason with him once again, saying he would continue the search for the Stone in Amestris while Ed searched around in Britain.

Mustang then held out a hand to stop Edward’s complaining, his smile turning to a stoic expression a moment later. “That isn’t our only mission. There is another… group within the magic society that requests another… mission during our stay there.”

He picked up the folder and handed it to the two Elrics, who first noticed the picture in the corner. A boy about Edward’s age – an unkempt mop of black hair, partially broken glasses poorly attempted to be fixed with tape, and a rather peculiar lightning-shaped scar trying to hide behind his bangs.

“Look, Brother,” Al said, pointing his large armour hand at the picture. “It’s moving.”

“Don’t be stupid, Al, pictures can’t move.”

“Well, _this one can!_ Look at it!” The disbelieving older brother moved towards the picture again. He waited. Then slowly, it occurred to him; to his surprise, the hair was slightly being windswept towards the right, his nervous smile twitching for a moment.

He blinked. The picture still moved. “Pictures don’t move,” he grunted.

“Well, this one can…” Al started, but his voice wavered into nothing when his older brother lifted up a gloved hand to stop him. Ed looked at Mustang. “What about him?” he asked, pointing at the picture.

“Our target for the mission.”

“Target?” Ed asked, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean? _Assassination_ mission?”

“Yes, assassination.” Mustang stared at Ed, dead in the eye, his gaze speaking for himself until he laughed and said, “No, not assassination. In fact, I don’t know too much about the mission myself. Apparently, once we arrive at our destination we’ll know more. But it involves him.” He tapped the picture. “Harry James Potter. Fifteen years old, born July 31. Status is a half-blood, whatever in the world that means,” Roy frowned.

Ed’s eyes skimmed through the information, not caring about this Potter boy’s fact file until he noticed a handwritten paragraph underneath that _did not_ look like the neat typewriter font above – _Lord Voldemort is back, Harry is the target. Please respond to our request immediately. Thank you for your time, Hogwarts first term September 1_ _st_ _, Kings Cross Station, Platform 9¾, 11 AM. Will all be sorted by the Order. – APWBD_

The Elric brothers had many questions that followed, not many of which gained answers, as the Flame Alchemist responded with either a shrug or an ‘I don’t know.’ Lord Voldemort? Edward wanted to laugh. He had met, in his four-year career as a State Alchemists, many pathetic villains with pathetic names – but never one with a name as absurd as _Lord Voldemort._ And that fractional platform made very little sense. Mustang said all of it would be explained on the day of the mission, when they arrived at their destination. That sorted _that_ part out.

The mission, Mustang explained, would begin by he and Edward taking an Express overnight train out of the country to neighbouring land in the west, Creta, around a month from when they were now, then to wait for representatives of the magical community to accompany them and arrange the transport to Britain.

“One last thing,” Mustang said, a smile playing to his lips again as Ed took his red coat and prepared to depart. “You do know, the Amestrian language is, you know, only widely spoken in, well, Amestris.”

“Yes, so…?”

“In Britain, they speak another language there. A language that’s spoken by most of the world, in fact. Meaning, for the remainder of the mission, you’ll have to speak in English. And I daresay you don’t know any.” His sly smile grew wider. “I’ve already been learning a few weeks ahead of you. So, Fullmetal, try to catch up.” 

Ed groaned, then cursed. _Damn it, Colonel Bastard…_

Maybe he would’ve enjoyed being court-martialed for disobeying orders instead. 

_/-/-/-/-/_

The landscapes outside seemed to flash through Ed’s mind as he stared blankly out the window. Nothing but a sea of green landscape that followed suit.

It _seemed like_ it was flashing past. However, for Ed, who glanced up every three minutes from his _Learning English Easy_ handbook and his Amestrian to English dictionary to stare out the window, the train went so awfully slow. He sighed and looked back at his book that talked about useless phrases and questions such as “What nationality are you?” “My pet eats dog food.” “No, I don’t like fruit that much…”

A week before the train ride, Mustang and Lt. Hawkeye had organised for the brothers to meet them at Central, planning to examine his English skills, and Alphonse knew more than him. It had been surprising - no, almost humiliating - really, since Alphonse had been studying English too by reading the books his older brother had borrowed, saying it would be a fun experience and something useful to learn. 

Ed had told the Colonel this was due to the fact Alphonse had a body that couldn’t sleep, meaning he spent his time during Ed’s slumber hours gaining an unfair disadvantage. The Colonel had just laughed and said that the Fullmetal Alchemist’s English skills had not even scraped a “satisfactory” in his books. Which was insulting; he wasn’t _that_ lacking. 

And Colonel Mustang now? Ed glanced on the other side in their small Express cabin. He was sleeping soundly on one of the two tiny beds in their cramped third-class train cabin _(Mustang, you damn cheapskate!_ Ed thought spitefully). 

He looked through the dictionary looking for how to say “Wake up, Colonel Bastard!” in English. When he had found the individual words, he looked through the pages again, finding many English synonyms for ‘short.’ 

After all, he needed to know them all so that he could be confident he was being called Edward Elric and not some derogatory English word for 'midget.'

_/-/-/-/-/_

The sun must not have been pleased with Creta, as the summer heat baked the population and Ed started to complain that the heat was fifty times more intense than it was back home. Mustang told him to shut up and get along with it. “You’re the Flame Alchemist,” Edward replied snidely. “Your fire is a hundred times hotter than the sun.”

“Shut up, Fullmetal,” the Colonel had told him, but a few minutes later Edward heard a quip from the older man’s mouth about how the sweltering heat hadn’t killed anyone yet. Edward looked triumphant.

The people were giving the Flame and Fullmetal Alchemists unusual looks. One of them said, quite loudly and pointedly, a very offensive word for Amestrians. It wasn’t surprising, however. Border skirmishes between Amestris and its western neighbour were still happening from a distance not so far from where they were now. 

Whatever. 

There was a small restaurant, advertising quality meals for a cheap price (which was most likely why the Flame Alchemist had chosen it), and Mustang and Ed took seats, with the former calling for a waitress to take their order. Once they had, there was silence between the two alchemists, compared to the other lively atmospheres from the neighbouring tables.

“You know, Fullmetal,” Mustang said, after what seemed like an incredibly long time, “there’s an Amestrian-occupied city in this country.”

“Yeah, Table City, I think that’s what it’s called,” Ed replied monotonously. “Are we going there after we eat?”

Mustang shook his head. “Table City is too far from here. Besides,” he added, lowering his voice. “The British… _wizards_ will be waiting for us here.” He said the word _wizards_ as if he was tasting something new and exotic in his mouth, finally deciding he didn’t like it. Ed could understand. He scoffed in reply.

“Waiting for us? More like vice versa.”

They sat in silence again, until Ed heard a mutter come out of the Flame Colonel’s mouth, his words nothing less colourful. 

“I apologise for the wait, I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” said a cheerful voice behind them. It almost made Edward jump. He was sure he hadn’t heard anything; footsteps, breathing. 

But the first thought that crossed his mind when he saw the man was how he could be dressed in such a fashion in such weather. He wore a dark purple cloak, with a large flowing white beard and half-moon spectacles resting atop his nose. Some Cretans stared at him, but the old man didn’t seem to care. He kept a large, friendly smile on his face as he was heading towards their table.

He took a seat from a vacant table and placed it at the table where Ed and Mustang sat, and sat down; Mustang was doing his best to keep a politely surprised expression, and Ed looked at him curiously, still wondering _how in hell_ someone would be able to wear such clothing under the sweltering Cretan heat. 

“Why, hello there.” The old man held out his right hand towards Mustang, who took it. Then he held it to Edward, who frowned, but finally took it with his automail hand. Once they had separated, Mustang nodded stiffly. 

So their magical escort was an old man with a too-long beard and peculiar clothes that were the polar opposite of what someone normal would be wearing in the summer. Lovely. 

“My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” he said, his smile still on his face, eyes twinkling warmly. As the waitress returned and served Edward and Mustang their meals, he said, “We have plenty to talk about. Let’s talk about it over meals and a good bout of Butterbeer, shall we?”

_/-/-/-/-/_

Ed’s knees hurt.

That was because he had landed on them. Not a very painless experience. He was sure his head was hurting too and he was wondering whether the Cretan meal wanted to rush back up his mouth. He shook his head. No _way_ was that going to happen, especially in front of Colonel Bastard and the funny-looking old man, Dumbledore.

Mustang had landed on his feet, and Ed was sure the Flame Colonel was about to give him a smug smirk when he stumbled on his feet and fell to the ground. 

The old man had called it a ‘portkey.’ 

It was, Ed thought aloud, the worst form of transport he’d seen. His expectations had instantly lowered when old man Dumbledore had brought out a small white chipped bowl, decorated with the occasional dust speck. He’d explained that the bowl had been enchanted with a charm that, when activated 

He could see that Mustang felt the same way Ed did. Less than impressed. 

The two alchemists had been told to place a finger on the bowl. Ed had, resulting in a feeling of being hooked by the navel. The experience had been like a carnival ride. Except Ed felt like being sick straight after and that he had landed in a completely different country after the ride. 

The intense heat was still blaring in the afternoon sky. Not as bad as Creta, but still the heat was stifling enough to make Ed complain. He got to his feet, taking a moment to analyse his surroundings, which, unlike Dumbledore, was nothing out of the ordinary. Suburban houses were lined up on both sides of the street they had touched down in - though they were houses whose appearances greatly differed to the ones he had seen in Amestris. 

“Is that a car?” Ed asked as he saw at least one parked at each driveway, either in front or to the side of the houses. It surprised him; while some of the Amestrian population kept cars, they were very expensive and looked very different to the cars he saw right in front of him. Then there were the British people, Ed thought, as he saw three cars in one property - two in front of the house and one parked on the side of the street. 

“This must be Britain, then,” Mustang said, and Dumbledore nodded. 

“More precisely,” the old man agreed, “this is London. And even more precisely than that, we’re in one of London’s suburban _muggle_ areas - Grimmauld Place.” 

Ed made a note to ask Dumbledore what the term 'muggle' was sooner or later. 

They walked past several houses and cars until Dumbledore gestured for the two alchemists to cease walking, saying, “We’re here. Number 12, Grimmauld Place-”

“No, it isn’t. There’s a mistake,” Mustang said, cutting in, and Ed walked over to his superior to take a look. He frowned. He had been right. They had been standing in front of Number 11, Grimmauld Place. "There's number ten to the left. But on the right is thirteen..."

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, chuckling, “that brings us to the next step. Here,” He handed Mustang a small folded piece of paper - no, not paper, Edward corrected himself. It was thicker and looked different from paper. It was parchment. “Make sure to memorise this as soon as possible, then burn it.” He nodded at Mustang. “I suppose you’re good at that. And remember,” he added, “to tell whoever greets you at the door these two words: ‘Advance Guard.’” He spoke the two words in English, saying them slowly. Which did make sense to the Fullmetal Alchemist. Edward had never heard those two words in his English books before. “That will be your code words for you to enter the premises.” 

Mustang nodded. He gestured for Edward to look and he saw a neat cursive scrawl, and they both read: 

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place._

He looked up. And out of nowhere, as if it had silently crept up from the ground and placed itself between house numbers eleven and thirteen - or as if it had always been there. It looked very unwelcoming, however. It was a darker colour than its well-kept neighbours, with a battered door along with dirty walls and dilapidated cobweb-stained grimy windows. 

There had been no noise, _nothing._ It was almost as if the other houses, notably eleven and thirteen felt nothing. Or maybe… maybe they did feel nothing. _So this is what magic is…_

“This must be the place,” Ed said to Mustang in Amestrian.

The Flame Alchemist, who had been occupied living to his name using his flame alchemy to set the paper in flames, and within moments the paper had been reduced to ashes. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

Mustang looked behind him. “Mr Dumbledore, let’s go - Mr Dumbledore?” 

“What about him?” Ed asked, eyes still fixed on the door to Number Twelve.

“He’s gone.”

“What do you mean?” The Fullmetal Alchemist looked back, and indeed, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was gone. He had just _vanished,_ ever so silently. It reminded Ed of the sudden appearance of number twelve. Was this what magic could do? Falman was right. The differences between magic and alchemy had varied so much when the former had wavered so far from the scientific practice. All the laws were being upturned. 

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Mustang said. “We’re meant to enter number twelve.”

They approached the house together. Ed watched as the Flame Colonel knocked on the uninviting door. 

There was silence, followed by several whispers and the shuffling of feet from the other side of the door. Edward Elric was not one who was so easily frightened, but he felt chills go up his spine. Then the door opened. 

It was a man, and Ed had to comment on his appearance, for it was strange. 

His face was rough-looking and thuggish and was riddled with scars all over. He had unkempt grey-blond hair and (which was what made the chills on Edward’s spine creep towards the rest of his body) a chunk of his nose was absent. 

It seemed like the antagonist of a horror film. 

But the most uncanny thing about this man was his eye. 

It was so unsettling to look at, and Ed’s gaze always traced back to that one eye. While one had the appearance of a normal eye, the other was a perfectly round electric-blue eye that moved in ways a normal eye never could. 

“Advance Guard,” Mustang said clearly. Ed noted the tremble in the Colonel’s voice, but it was better than nothing. As much as he would deny it, the Colonel did have a better grasp of English than Ed had currently. It annoyed him a little. 

“You’re the alchemists, right?” he asked gruffly in a low growling voice. The language the man had spoken in had surprised Ed for a moment. Then it dawned on him. Somehow, Dumbledore was conversing with them in Amestrian. Maybe due to prior knowledge of the language or magic. “No point standing around dawdling. Get in.” 

He didn’t understand what _dawdling_ meant, but he did understand ‘get in.’ He followed Mustang as the older alchemist nodded to the man at the door. He let them pass through the door, and Ed took one final glance at the electric blue. It stared at him, daring him to make one criticising movement. 

Ed sighed.

No, he definitely was not going to enjoy this mission. 


	2. Subordinate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Ed enter Grimmauld Place and meet Moody and the Order. Things get slightly a bit... bad when Ed discovers their Dumbledore-issued mission and makes first impressions with the plucky wizard trio of Harry, Hermione and Ron.

As Moody led the way through the Black residence, he took advantage of the silence between the three men to analyse the alchemists that he had met at the door.

The blue eye he had attained after losing the old one had plenty of advantages. He was almost _thankful_ he had lost the original one in battle - one of the new eye’s abilities allowed him to see at the back of his head. Useful for many situations. 

The older man looked no older than thirty, maybe a few years younger, donning a fedora. Underneath was clean-shaven raven-black hair that fell over his eyes and dark black eyes. He studied the man’s eyes. He’d seen them before. He was sure he had _that_ look in his eyes as well. 

Those were the eyes of those who had endured the sufferings of war. 

Of course, it was to be expected. Prior to their arrival, Dumbledore had told them in a briefing that the Amestrian representatives that they were highly trained soldiers in the military, known for their alchemical prowess. ‘Highly-trained’, in Moody’s interpretation, meant they had been through suffering conflict - maybe as terrible as the First Wizarding War, maybe worse. After all, with the little information he knew about Amestris was that it was a military state that was in constant conflict with its neighbours to the west, south and north. 

Which brought him to the subject of the second representative. 

He was much shorter and younger than the man next to him. Too young to set himself upon soldier’s path. Slung over his shoulder seemed to be a red coat with a black symbol emblazoned on it that Moody could not distinguish. His long, golden-blond hair was tied back in a braid, with two bangs separated in the middle, and strangely, a small strand of hair sticking up like an antenna. Under those bangs, however, were gold eyes. 

Unlike the older man’s eyes, however, those eyes had never witnessed the horror of war. But those eyes burned with another look, one of determination, and those eyes seemed to tell Moody that while he had not seen the atrocity of war, he had seen many other atrocities, almost as terrible as war itself.

Moody could tell many things by analysing people, especially with his left eye. He decided these two would be very interesting guests, indeed.

He led the two alchemists through the doorway to the dining room, where sitting around the large wooden table, the Order sat. Moody gestured for them to enter first. The older man nodded, and the younger boy followed, his face unreadable.

Moody followed after the two. He knew the Order was attempting to evaluate the two newcomers with their eyesight like he had, trying to attain anything just by studying them. He decided to break the silence.

“As what Albus mentioned to us in the letter, here are the two alchemists representing Amestris.” He turned to the pair. “Standing before you is the Order of the Phoenix. I’m Moody. Around the table are Arthur, Molly, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and Hestia. Order,” he turned to the group seated around the table, “these will be our… _guests_ for the next school year. Albus has asked us all to treat them with _respect.”_ Moody hoped he had emphasised the last word enough. 

After all, he did not want a repeat of what had happened a few hours ago. Especially with the actual guests-of-honour right in front of them. 

He saw the younger boy, whose deadpan expression twitched into a frown. He saw the older man, who continued to keep the blank expressionless manner and nodded at the younger. Moody took his place with the Order, and the black-haired Amestrian coughed into his fist and brought his gloved right hand to his temple into a stiff salute.

“I am… Roy Mustang and this is… my _subordinate,_ Edward Elric. It is my... pleasure to meet you all.”

_/-/-/-/-/_

Roy hoped his English had sounded adequate. He hoped he said the word ‘subordinate’ right. After all, that was a word he’d been practising as part of his introductions. Then again, he’d learned enough English in the academy. He’d gained decent marks. So he was confident.

But apparently his English pronunciation either was decent enough or the ‘Order’ group were indifferent to it. They seemed bothered about other things.

“Excuse me,” he watched a red-haired, stout woman stand from her chair. From her attire, Roy could tell she simply was (or just looked like) a mere housewife. From what the man Moody had said, her name was Molly something-or-other. “Did you just call him your _subordinate?”_

He heard a sigh beside him. It was a usual reaction from Fullmetal, Roy assumed, concerning the topic of age, especially with the rumours surrounding the Fullmetal Alchemist and several enemies he fought, that the famous Fullmetal Alchemist was only fifteen years of age. He himself could relate. Since the Ishval War, he’d heard rumours he had been lying about his age to make his achievements seem more admirable. 

Not that they were admirable in any way.

“Yes, he is my subordinate.”

_Subordinate._ That was the word in English, from the Amestrian-English dictionary that was located at the very bottom of Roy's luggage. _sub-or-di-net._ In its noun form, its definition would be _'a person under the authority or control of another within an organisation.'_

Most likely, the Order would know that word and its meaning. Well, they should, the Flame Alchemist mused. 

“So he’s not your son or anything like that?” Another red-head. Or maybe that was orange. He was most likely the woman’s husband. Roy sighed. So apparently, he was wrong and they didn't know the word's definition at all. 

“We are not… family,” Roy explained. “Not family blood. I am his superior in Amestris army.”

“So Britain never liked Amestris, didn’t they?” The red-haired woman said, a hint of coldness in her voice. “I can understand that, especially if they’re hiring young boys to be soldiers.”

Roy heard Fullmetal curse in Amestrian, followed by some muttering in the same tongue that sounded vaguely like _“Shut up.”_ So he did understand some of the conversation. And he took offence. The man next to her, the same man who had asked if Edward was Roy's son, tried to calm her down, and she sat down with a huff.

Silence, then someone else spoke up. “The boy’s age could be of some advantage to us, Molly,” and the red-head woman had turned to look at him. “Concerning the details of Dumbledore’s mission for them, it’s kind of a prudent tactic.”

“I do see your point, Sirius,” agreed the man next to him. “It makes it all less suspicious…”

Roy heard a fist slam the table with a loud impact. He frowned. Clearly, she was upset by all this; Fullmetal’s position in the military at his age. However, it was not as if she had any business to care. “He’s just a _boy-”_

Moody saved the by coughing into his fist. “Alright, everyone settle down.” From inside his cloak, he took out a piece of thick parchment then opened it by rolling it open, just like pirates in picture books unraveling a rolled-up map with a treasure that existed in Amestrian storybooks.

“We know what Albus told us,” the red-haired woman groused indignantly, “but he never mentioned anything about bringing a _boy_ to a mission against-”

_“Annoying,”_ whispered Fullmetal in Amestrian just under his breath. _“That woman is annoying.”_

Roy made no response. But he did have a point. Who was she, questioning the Amestrian military and the personnel they sent on missions? Especially in Fullmetal’s case…

Why, Fullmetal’s situation was even more questionable. That was a reason to keep his secret kept hidden under wraps. 

_“Molly,”_ Moody said her name in a rougher, more dangerous tone, and Roy watched as the red-haired woman, Molly, close her mouth and take her seat once again. “We’ll discuss this later. For now…” he glanced at Roy, and asked, “We have more important matters to discuss. I suppose Albus told you all about the inner mission during your Hogwarts stay?”

The Flame Alchemist shook his head. “Not at all. We were told it people telling us when we come to England.” 

“Well, that would make good judgement,” Moody growled softly. “This mission is classified. I trust your leader made this mission clear to a select few, correct?”

Roy met Moody’s response with none.

“Alright,” he huffed. “Onto the mission. This is from Dumbledore,” he added, waving the parchment scribed with neat writing that Roy remembered from the Harry Potter file he had been given back in Amestris, and the writing on the slip of paper he had been instructed to burn just before entering Number Twelve. “Re-reading what he sent us earlier...

_“Order,_

_“After the disastrous failure and the tragedy of Cedric Diggory from last year’s Triwizard Tournament, sources suggest the Ministry has been trying to strengthen relationships with other countries, possibly to get more allies after the Tournament and seem more powerful to the normal wizarding public than they really are. According to Kingsley, they have been attempting to strengthen relationships with more semi-magical countries.”_

“Semi… semi-magical country?” A woman had spoken up this time - not the red-head plump woman Molly, but another one who looked younger - and to Roy’s shock, her hair suddenly changed from a straight long purple to a curly short pink. He was sure _that_ had cut off some years from his lifespan.

The man next to her, a dark-skinned, broad shouldered man who Roy remembered was introduced as Kingsley, explained to her - and indirectly was talking pointedly to Roy and Edward as well - that semi-magical countries were countries that had been heavily concealed by magic despite having little to no magical communities residing there, therefore remaining undetected by Muggles who lived outside their borders. However, there were Muggles that resided there, unaware of their concealed nations. 

_Muggles._ That strange word once again. 

Roy was sure _that_ word never appeared in the Amestrian-English dictionary. 

It was almost as if the Moody man had read his mind with that bizarre-looking blue eye of his, explaining gruffly that Muggles were what the wizarding society called non-magical people. Which had, in Roy’s mind, made plenty of sense now that he had connected the definition of that new word with the way these _wizards_ talked of them. The 'Muggles.' The people who possessed no magical powers. 

Roy heard Fullmetal’s quiet scoff as the Kingsley man continued to talk about Amestris as a ‘semi-magical’ country. _“Science, not magic,”_ he muttered, as he spun a fountain pen between his fingers, apparently (or just looking as if) _not_ the slightest bit interested in the conversation at all.

_“Of course, as well as the Ministry’s attempt to save face and keep their honour preserved in front of the magical community, comes Voldemort’s return - a return they refuse to believe. While I am sure this will bring plenty of danger to Harry, the Ministry will obviously refuse to provide backup or protection against the dark forces. Which is why I have decided to take matters into my own hands.”_

“Protection?” Roy queried. Back in Amestris, high-ranking officials had been always targeted by terrorist cells and criminal organisations, so it was the norm for highly skilled (or simply just normal, low-ranking) soldiers to be handed the task of protecting said high-ranking officials from any danger that would come to them - during something as little as a train trip or over a long-time period, no matter how high the risk of death was.

If you survived, that was quite fine, the military would put you back to your normal military job. Should you die, well… 

Roy knew as a soldier, he wore the uniform knowing he could be buried in it any moment after. Soldiers _were_ expendable, after all.

“So this Potter boy…” Roy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Is in danger of… of…” he cursed an Amestrian word in his mind as he struggled to find the appropriate English word. “... bad people.”

He knew he sounded stupid, he knew he sounded like a child. But it was better than nothing.

“Quite right,” Moody affirmed, and he continued reading, _“I have discussed matters with the leader of Amestris, Fuhrer King Bradley, and he has said that the Ministry has offered a diplomatic Amestrian party to the magical community. I simply had an idea and expressed it with the Fuhrer. He has agreed to the proposition I have offered - in exchange that the two alchemists will emerge unharmed from this mission, of course._

_“So, Order, we will be welcoming two Amestrians into our ranks - a week earlier than what the Ministry thinks. They are to be treated with utmost respect, as they will be an envoy sent to Hogwarts to protect Harry Potter and keep a watch on him against Lord Voldemort. Their identities are unknown as of now, but they will be sent very soon, and when they do, they are to be regarded with the utmost respect, in order to help the operation run as smoothly as possible."_

__\- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”_ _

The Order stayed silent. Of course, Moody had said he was re-reading Dumbledore’s letter for to hear. So all the negative reactions toward this letter must have been already expressed, already conveyed in quite possibly… _colourful_ ways. 

The same, Roy mused, could not be said for the two newcomers, the two Amestrians that sat with their limited English skills as they were slowly comprehending the meaning of the old Dumbledore man’s letter and their true reasons for their stay in the magical world. 

They were being _used._ Taken advantage of by politics. 

To defend a black-haired glasses boy against an evil magic enemy. 

Fullmetal was the one to express his feelings aloud. Feelings that Roy shared as well. 

“No!” Fullmetal’s splutter of indignation (in English, as well) had brought him into the conversation, and the Order looked at him and collectively blinked. But it seemed like others were on Edward’s side - but for another reason, it seemed - he could see Molly once again stand to her feet, a triumphant look on her face.

He watched as Edward turned to him, hissing to him in Amestrian, _“I thought it was just going to Hogwarts!”_

_“Did you forget, Fullmetal?”_ Roy looked at him with exasperation. _“Dumbledore had another mission within our main political thing, you should’ve expected this-”_

_“I thought it was something like helping the students learn alchemy, or-”_

_“Well, it’s not. And since Dumbledore said so but there’s nothing we can do-”_

_“I can see you’re ticked by this as well!”_

_“Yes, yes I am, Fullmetal. But it’s an order from the higher-ups and we cannot complain. If you want to complain, go take it to court or something.”_

_“Seems favourable to this,”_ Edward grunted, crossing his arms in a huff.

“See? What use is the mission if the _underaged half of the delegation_ doesn’t agree?” Molly said loudly. She looked at Roy. “Out of all the capable soldiers you could have sent - capable _Muggle_ soldiers,” she added, placing emphasis on the word ‘Muggle’, “you sent a young boy to help protect Harry against a wizard that’s killed our families and terrorised society for eleven years?”

“We alchemists are… capable for mission,” Roy said simply. Why didn’t those wizarding people understand? This mission seemed perfectly simple, compared to a couple of other bodyguarding missions he had to perform as a lower-ranking officer years ago. He was sure this would not involve any “hands-on” activity, or even meeting the enemy himself.

He bit his lip. He had felt quite offended that Molly had been focusing more on Fullmetal’s age and supposed lack of capability to perform properly in the mission, and not focusing on _Roy,_ who, unlike Fullmetal, was older, a high-ranking veteran and a fully capable soldier serving the Amestrian military.

Molly was about to open her mouth to retaliate, but another woman - maybe, Roy thought, it was Hestia? - quieted her down, saying, “It’s not that dangerous. Neither of them will be sent on any dangerous missions that involve them to leave the school or anything. It’s simply keeping a watch on Potter, making sure he doesn’t do anything. This whole operation is Dumbledore’s orders anyway. He knows what he’s doing.” 

The man, Lupin, from before nodded in agreement. “We can’t contradict Dumbledore. It’s not that bad, and it’s very beneficial that Harry receives extra protection, especially with the perfect reasons for being at Hogwarts. Dumbledore knows what’s best for Harry, it’s not going to be eventful and I’m sure this extra protection will benefit Harry and Edward-” Edward had made a sour face at this statement - “oh, speak of the devil, here he is.”

He heard the loud _thump-thump-thump_ from another room, and on instinct, Roy turned. 

So there happened to be eavesdroppers at the door. Not surprising.

Three adolescent youths, looking no older than Fullmetal himself entered the room. In the centre was the boy that looked familiar - he traced his memories and remembered he was the boy from the report briefing Dumbledore had sent the Amestrian military - a bespectacled boy with glasses, messy black hair, green eyes. 

So he was the boy the dark wizard named Voldemort was after. The boy they were expected to protect.

There was yet another red-head that accompanied the boy - a male, the same age, and a female with bushy brown hair who seemed also fifteen years of age. Roy looked back at the bespectacled boy, who took a step forward and looked at the Order.

“I don’t need any Muggles babysitting me at Hogwarts 24/7.” Behind his glasses, his eyes trailed from Roy’s, then to Fullmetal next to him. Behind those glasses, the boy’s eyes held a firm, cold glare.

“And I do not want to watch no stranger in magic school,” Fullmetal hurled back in his thick accent, glaring back sternly. 

Roy groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

He was almost tempted to bring out his flame alchemy gloves, start a fire in the dining hall then defenestrate himself. 

No, he knew he wouldn’t enjoy this mission at all.

_/-/-/-/-/_

First, Dumbledore kept him in the dark in Privet Drive for the first half of the summer holidays. Then, when the Dementors has attacked, his indirect message to him had been to stay where he was and to not do anything. (And, to make things worse, the old man did not even bother to tell him personally. It had to be _Sirius_ and _Mr Weasley_ to send him letters telling him.) 

Then, against his wishes, he’d organised for two foreigners - who had seemed to not understand who Lord Voldemort was until an explanation was given - to keep an eye on him during his fifth year at Hogwarts and then report to the Hogwarts Headmaster his every move. 

It infuriated him. He, Harry Potter, was _not_ a child anymore. 

After all, he had been through so many things no child - and certainly very few adults - would ever experience in their lifetime. He was sure those Amestrians had _not_ experienced anything as dangerous as trying to take the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort, or fighting Basilisks, Dementors, dragons and Voldemort himself. 

“Cheer up, it’s not so bad, mate,” Ron said absentmindedly, patting him on the back as a way of reassurance. “Maybe it’s good you got some extra protection-”

_“It is bad!”_ Harry bellowed, making the other two flinch. “Hell, why on earth does Dumbledore even think I need _extra protection?!_ Doesn’t he know that I’ve been doing fine on my own? Hell, he and the rest of the Order left me in the dark for the whole summer!”

Hermione flinched. Clearly, Harry could see in her eyes that she had just been thinking of what he had said to his friends a day earlier, when he had raised his voice. Maybe he had felt a twinge of regret that moment, but his anger towards such a ridiculous ‘mission’ made him indifferent to her. She regained her composure and spoke calmly, “Harry, I know this isn’t really a favourable situation, but you’ll have to deal with it. After all, they weren’t just summoned here to look after you. Look at it from their side; they must not really enjoy this either. You saw them.”

“They’re here for politics, whatever,” Ron agreed. “Dad told me they were meant to arrive later, just a few days before Hogwarts. All to strengthen relationships, apparently, with magical communities and semi-magical states, he said.”

“So Dumbledore basically took advantage of the situation.” The words tasted so bitter in his mouth; he struggled to bite back a curse. He laid on his bed, staring towards the ceiling, biting his lip that trembled with anger. 

“Get up, we have to get down for dinner.” The red-headed Weasley boy shook Harry off the bed, and stopped the latter from drowning in his own thoughts of resentment towards Dumbledore, frustration towards the Order, and thoughts of antipathy towards the two alchemists that had strolled through the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He almost fell off the bed as he struggled to stand, sighing. “Mum is going to yell at us if we stay up here too long.” 

He nodded weakly, then closed the door behind him as they began to descend the staircase. Harry could notice that the Order crowd was still bustling in the hallway below, talking about all sorts of subjects regarding either the wizarding world, the Muggle world, or perhaps both. 

Behind his glasses, his green eyes scanned the crowd through the banisters below. He saw the black-haired older Amestrian, who was speaking tentatively to Sirius, who seemed to be more interested in the former’s black Muggle coat and military suit. He skimmed over the two, and then his eyes rested on a certain sight. 

He was staring at two golden eyes. 

And those two golden eyes were staring back at him. 

“It’s that alchemist boy,” whispered Hermione.

Harry remembered him from their encounter about an hour or two ago. He seemed so disgruntled at the realisation that he would have to bodyguard Harry from Voldemort during the school year that Harry thought that if Dumbledore and the Order wanted top bodyguards to protect him, they would have to at least try harder in finding some that would wholly agree to the task. 

His long golden blond hair was tied back into a plait, but two wing-like bangs were framed at either side as they fell to his chin, and at the top of his head, right between the top of these two bangs, was a peculiar-looking strand of hair sticking up like an antenna. It seemed like he nor the older alchemist had changed from their Muggle attire as Harry could see the young alchemist’s glossy black jacket lined with white. A bright red trench coat was slung over his shoulder, with a black snake slithering around a black cross with a crown lying above both emblazoned in the centre of the coat’s back. 

The two eyes averted themselves from Harry’s gaze then moved towards Hermione and Ron, as if briefly analysing them. Then they looked away then turned towards the floor. The alchemist boy shrugged his slumped shoulders, then ambled towards the staircase. 

“Oh, he’s coming,” Ron frowned as they stood, as if the three had their feet glued to the stairs, and the golden-haired youth slowly ascended the stairs, showing no sign that he knew the trio were still on the stairs, gaze still focused towards the floor. 

“Is this really what Muggles wear?” Ron wondered aloud to no-one in particular, and was ignored by both his two friends and the newcomer on the stairs. 

Harry noticed that a book was held, under the boy’s right arm. He peered closer, as inconspicuous as he could, but the gold title of the leather-bound book was in a foreign language he did not know. 

“So,” Ron began nervously, “that man is your dad, right? Or an uncle?”

The blond-haired boy looked at Ron with a look of annoyance. He clicked his tongue, and replied, “So you no hear all of talking, no?” He waited for a response, and when his question was followed by none, he continued, “he is not my dad.” The thick accent was heavy in the boy’s voice, Harry noted, just as it had been as it accompanied his poor grammar when they had first encountered one another. He paused, seeming to look for the right words, then said, “He is… someone else.”

“Who is he, then?” Hermione questioned curiously, and the boy - no, not just a _boy,_ his surname was Elric - looked at Hermione, eyebrows raised for a split second - then they went down again. “I mean, if he’s not your dad-”

“He is _not_ my dad. He is someone else,” he repeated, the forced pressure visible in his already thick voice, “but he is not my dad.”

It was surprising, hearing this tone of voice in Elric’s reply. They could clearly hear the contempt in his voice as he finally added, “He is nothing like _my_ dad,” then stepped to the side, attempting to break through the barrier Harry and his two friends had created.

“Let me… go in.” 

“How about… how about dinner?” Hermione squeaked nervously. 

“Eating all done. Let me go.” The golden-haired boy deadpanned almost immediately in reply, as if he had been expecting that question. He pointed behind the trio, no words said. He had probably made his point already. 

They stood there for another minute or so, until Harry, Ron and Hermione finally let him through, and he disregarded their existence as he brushed past them up the stairs. For a few moments. 

As Elric passed them, he locked eyes with Harry for one second. His jade green eyes met Elric’s fiery, golden ones; and Harry received the message loud and clear. 

_As much as I don’t want to do this, let’s just get this over and done with._

Harry had to agree.

Even though he was sure he was not going to enjoy this mission at all.

However, as Elric passed them, a small voice of doubt spoke softly in his head. 

_His footsteps sound different. Don’t you hear?_

Harry frowned. It was quite a nonsensical thought, he mused, such ridiculous words that he didn’t bother thinking about it again. 

There was silence, until Hermione broke the quietude. “So… dinner?”

“Dinner.” 

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this rewrite of Diplomacy Gone Wrong (the original being on FF.net of course), I also want to expand on the relationships between the Ministry and our two plucky alchemists. That’ll bring plenty more to boil over in this story. I hope it’ll be fun.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read Diplomacy Gone Wrong Chapter 2. Reviews of constructive criticism, compliments and simply what you like and what you don’t are greatly appreciated.


	3. Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed gets involved in some social interaction. Hermione asks him for a favour. Harry, Fred and George learn something new about these two newcomers.

_ Al. _

_ So I’ve just arrived here in Britain, in the place we’re meant to stay at. The trip was alright, to say the least. Though I will tell you that wizarding forms of travel are very… quick. But not fun.  _

_ Breakfast was uncomfortable. Everyone kept on asking me questions. I couldn’t understand half of what they were saying - I bet all of those words were from wizard language and not in the English dictionary. Then there were the questions like ‘how are you’, ‘how old are you’, ‘do you know these wizard terms I’ll test you’, ‘what are the Muggle things like in Amestris.’  _

_ Speaking of that strange new word, I learned its meaning today. ‘Muggle.’ Don’t bother searching it through the Amestrian-English dictionary. It’s not there, it’s some weird wizard term. It means, ‘a term used by magical people to mean a person without magical powers.’  _

But there was one question that stayed in Ed’s mind.

How would he be able to bring up the details of the mission properly?   
  


Granted, Al was the Fullmetal Alchemist’s brother, so the former was entitled to be informed of the mission (or, at least Ed thought he was). However, this magical babysitting adventure was apparently supposed to be a ‘classified mission.’ 

And if Amestris was this ‘semi-magical’ country that the common British society didn’t know existed, then how would he be able to explain to the mailman that East City was actually a city in a country that actually existed but didn’t appear on the maps? How would he be able to explain the whole schematics of the mission in a simple but brief enough way to not reveal too much? The protect-a-famous-wizard-boy mission disguised under a messed-up-diplomacy delegation? 

_ I met these three kids last night. There’s the one glasses boy from the briefing we saw. His name is Harry Potter. He’s got these two friends that chase after him. I don’t think he likes me. I don’t like him either.  _

_ Say hi to Winry for me-  _ Ed stopped. All that had seemed too sudden, to talk about Harry Potter then abruptly conclude the letter. But he really didn’t have anything to talk about, he mused. He crossed a line through the words he had just written and decided to write a little more:  _ Apparently, according to Colonel Bastard, it’s not just a political mission. Something to do with Harry Potter. And some other wizards. And protecting him during his school year. Yeah, I know that I shouldn’t be complaining about this, but I didn’t agree with a babysitting mission! We were only informed on it the night we arrived. I don’t think Potter likes this situation either. Or me. I mentioned that already. _

_ I’ll keep you updated. Write back as soon as you can. Say hi to Winry for me when you see her.  _

_ Your brother,  _

_ Ed  
_

He placed back the cap on the fountain pen, folded the letter and sealed it into an envelope he had packed in his case. Ed wondered where the post office would be; from what Ed remembered from yesterday, Grimmauld Place was a suburban area, and each house had a letterbox, so there was bound to be a post office somewhere.

__

Then he clicked his tongue in annoyance upon remembering Amestris being called a ‘semi-magical country’. Whatever the hell  _ that  _ had meant, Ed mused, even if he had found a post office and managed to hand it in for postage, the letter would never even step foot outside of British borders.

__

_ Then how do I mail it? How did the wizards manage to write a letter to Bradley?  _ He closed the door of his bedroom behind him and slowly descended the staircase into the halls of the first floor of the house. Plenty of wizards, from both the previous night and wizards he had never seen before until now, were gathered, some staying for a few minutes then seemingly vanishing into thin air. He looked around for familiar faces he could approach; the strange-eye man Moody who had escorted him into the house was nowhere to be seen, Mrs Weasley, the woman who had criticised Ed’s status as a member of the military, seemed too focused on household chores; he turned his head and watched the bespectacled boy, Harry Potter, his friends and a few others with bottles and gloves, all with displeased looks on their faces.

__

Ed approached them slowly. The group were occupied with an activity that involved spraying liquid from a bottle onto tiny creatures that reminded Ed of very ugly fairies. The red-head twins were the first to notice him, and then the whole group turned towards him, halting their cleaning work, which made Ed feel slightly uncomfortable. 

__

There was silence, then a girl approached him. She had the same red hair as three of the boys in the group. She placed her bottle down.

__

“Hi,” she said shyly. 

__

Ed said nothing. 

__

“I’m Ginny,” she said, holding her left hand out for a shake. Ed simply stared at it, then gingerly took it, thanking God she hadn’t been holding out her right. Ed looked at her. “You already know my name.”

__

“I suppose,” she shrugged. “Roy, wasn’t it?” 

__

_ I’m Colonel Bastard now?  _ “No, name it is Edward.” 

__

The girl, Ginny, hesitated, but then smiled at him. “How old are you? You look like Ron’s age. He’s my older brother.” She gestured behind him. “That’s Ron, Hermione, Harry, Fred and George.”

__

None of them said hello. The Hermione girl gave him a small smile. The twin boys looked at Ed with a curious expression on their faces. Harry Potter looked stony-faced. 

__

Feeling that staying quiet would still be impolite, and that in the month leading up to this mission he remembered Mustang and his brother had continuously asked him to keep his temper under control and to actually talk to other people, he replied, after what seemed like hours, “Yes. I am… fifteen years of age. Fifteen.” 

__

Then he remembered why he was downstairs, so he changed the subject and asked, “Do you… know... way to... post office?” 

__

Ginny gave him a confused look, and Ed, thinking he had said it incorrectly, said the word ‘post office’ in Amestrian, then pulled out the envelope containing his letter to Al from his pocket. “Send… post message. Letter. Letter send.” 

__

“Post office. Where Muggles send their letters to be sent to their recipients.” Ed turned, and saw a bushy-haired girl walking towards them. She nodded at him. “I’m Hermione Granger. And you’re Edward Elric, the alchemist from yesterday.”

__

Ed showed his letter, and Hermione nodded. “I’ll take you to the owls. I’m sure Sirius would allow you to borrow one.” 

__

_ Owls?  _ Was Ed sure he had heard that right?

__

“I’ll go with you both,” said Ginny quickly, garnering protests of indignation from some members of the group.

__

“Hey, what about cleaning?” One of the twins asked. 

__

“Stop trying to skive from your cleaning duties!” 

__

“Cut it out, we’ll only be gone for a short while,” Hermione said. She turned to Ed, “This way.”

__

Ed followed Hermione past several halls and corridors, Ginny following behind, and suddenly, the whole house was enveloped in a high-pitched, demonic-like shriek, and Ed placed his hands over his ears.

__

_ “FILTH! HALF-BREEDS! MUTANTS! MUDBLOODS! BEGONE FROM THIS PUREBLOOD PLACE!” _

__

Al would tell Ed that the latter had such a foul mouth, but Ed thought that his swearing was nothing compared to much of what the female voice was screaming out now. 

__

Ginny explained quickly, “That’s a portrait of Sirius’ good old mum. She tends to be… inactive most of the time… someone must have accidentally woken her up again.” 

__

_ Portrait… as in a painting of someone? A painting that can scream?  _ Ed curled his lip in annoyance, but his irritation soon dissolved into nothing when he noticed that Hermione was opening the door to a certain room. 

__

Ed gaped.

__

So he hadn’t been wrong with interpreting Hermione’s English. They  _ did  _ use those owls to send mail. Owls of different sizes, shapes and colours in large cages, filling the room with hoots and the flapping of wings. 

__

There was one figure in the room, other than the owls; a middle-aged man with unkempt, long, black hair and scruffy robes, with a tired expression on his face. He looked up upon seeing the entrance of Ed and the two girls; he smiled and made a wave. 

__

“Hi, Sirius,” Ginny spoke up first. “What’re you doing here?” 

__

“Looking for Kreacher.” Ed did not know who this  _ Kreacher  _ was, but judging from Sirius’ expression and tone of voice,  _ Kreacher  _ did not sound like a pleasant individual. “I can’t find that little shit anywhere, he’s probably snogging my mother’s belongings in God knows where, I bet-”

__

Hermione coughed into her fist. “Can we borrow an owl for Edward? He wants to send something to Amestris.” 

__

“Sure.” Sirius pointed to a certain tawny owl in its cage on the windowsill, calmly eating birdseed from a small container. Ed ambled towards the owl, trying to gain its attention. 

__

He tapped the owl’s wing gently with his left gloved hand, then the owl abruptly stopped eating. It looked up and saw Ed, then suddenly, brought down its sharp beak and pecked his index finger. He yelped in shock, swore loudly in Amestrian and stared at his hand.

__

Crimson red was seeping through the white cloth of the glove.

__

Sirius immediately rushed to his aid. He took out his stick ( _ wand _ , Ed reminded himself, not stick but wand), muttered a few words and pointed it to the small bleeding cut on Ed’s hand. Immediately, the bleeding stopped; it was if the cut had been already cleaned.  _ It must have been,  _ Ed thought, still staring at his finger.  _ He did something with his magic.  _ “Th-thank you.” 

__

“You’re welcome. Just don’t do that again,” Sirius smirked. “Animals don’t like it when you interrupt them in the middle of their lunch. I think the owl is ready for you though.”

__

The owl was now staring at Ed, or rather, he thought, it was staring at his finger. He was sure that the owl was laughing at him internally. It held out one leg, and Ed, giving the owl a steely glare, cautiously approached the bird again. 

__

“Do it go to Amestris?” Ed asked the wizards behind him. He turned to Sirius. “Owl… bird… fly to Amestris with letter?” 

__

“Yes, it’s an incredibly foolproof way to send messages,” Sirius replied. “Owls can fly to a lot of places, semi-magical states included. It helps if the letter has some sort of scent from Amestris. It might take a long time to send the letter, however,” Sirius added, as Ed was about to turn his focus on the owl, “which is expected because of the distance between Amestris and Britain.”

__

_ The distance between Amestris and Britain? Is the distance that far? Maybe not, but considering an owl is flying all the way from here to Al in Amestris…  _ Ed hadn’t entirely grasped the distance of the two countries up until that point. Granted, he and Mustang  _ had  _ used magical means to transport themselves from Creta to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t know how far it would be. 

__

“So, who’s the letter for?” Hermione asked.

__

Her question was ignored as Ed tied the envelope to the owl’s leg, firmly securing it to make sure it would not fall throughout the duration of the owl’s journey. Then, finally, he replied, “Someone in Amestris.” 

__

“For who? Your military, or your family, or your friends, or…?”

__

“Family yes,” Ed nodded, confident the letter was tied securely to the owl’s leg, and opened the window. He then turned to the owl, saying in English, “Go to Amestris,” then repeated the command in Amestrian. He wasn’t sure whether the owl had understood either of the languages, but the owl made one final hoot then took off. 

__

Ed was about to take his leave, when he passed Sirius, who said, “You should join them in cleaning. It’ll be fun,” he smirked. 

“Only because you’re not the one who gets forced by Mum to get rid of the stupid Doxys,” Ginny shot back.

__

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione sighed. 

__

“Doxys?” Ed looked at them, confused. “What is Doxys?”

__

Ginny groaned. “Doxys are these tiny little fairy pests,” she explained, wrinkling her nose in disgust, and Ed remembered the group composed of her, Hermione and the boys spraying liquid at the fairy-looking creatures, which dropped dead to the floor upon contact with the liquid. “If you’re not quick to spray them with the Doxycide, they bite you on the fingers. They bit me a few times, but if you’re quick you can get to them first.” 

__

Feeling slightly stuck in the situation, and not wanting to seem impolite or disrespectful again for declining in a household chore in a lodging that was providing him accommodation, he quietly agreed, and followed Hermione and Ginny back to the group of Potter and the red-headed Weasley boys. 

__

Ginny took him to Mrs Weasley, saying he had offered to join in the cleaning (which, of course, Ed knew was a lie, but did not point that out). He still had a slight sense of annoyance towards the woman, because of her attitude towards him being young and being part of the military. However, he had to admit that Mrs Weasley was a kind woman, and today she spoke a lot more nicely and stopped her current activity to summon the cleaning supplies to him and explain to him briefly how to kill the Doxys, clear corners and the ceiling of cobwebs.

__

Ed had to agree with Hermione. Despite him rather wanting to stay in the bedroom and read up on alchemy or learn more English, cleaning wasn’t as horrible as the Weasley children made it seem. In fact, it satisfied him to spray the liquid (called Doxycide) at the Doxys, watching them make small squeals and fall lifeless to the floor. The whole house seemed to be infested with those tiny pests, but it bothered him little. 

__

He heard the Weasley boys, Ron, Fred and George, complain curse as they narrowly escaped being bitten on the hands by the Doxys, which annoyed him slightly. It wasn’t so hard to spray the Doxys and kill them; why were they grousing over something so small? Ed remembered how he would complain in the office of Colonel Roy Mustang upon the large military missions he had been issued and could not refuse; he had complained for the ten-month mission to the British magical world he did not expect nor sign up for. Life was worse than cleaning out the house of pests. 

__

When they had finished about two or three hours later, Mrs Weasley and Sirius had come in and commended the group on their work. The group began to split; Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone off together, Fred and George had decided to leave for their room as well. Ginny had asked Ed if he wanted to join her, but Ed politely declined; he had research to attend to.

__

He approached Sirius and asked if he had a bookroom, or a library of some sorts. 

__

“Yeah, I do, but why would you want to go there?” Sirius asked. “There aren’t any school textbooks in there for Hogwarts, and I don’t think there are any alchemy texts there either, just stuff about advanced magic and spells and stuff that Hogwarts students shouldn’t bother learning. I think there may be Dark Magic books there, but I cleared them all out. I think.” 

__

Ed remembered when he had first been summoned to the East City headquarters to learn about the mission, where Warrant Officer Falman and Mustang had, somewhat, told him that alchemy and magic were related, through their explanations to Edward for the existence of magic. It was worth seeing if there were any similarities between the two that could help Ed in his search for the Philosopher’s Stone, or anything that could bring his brother’s body back. 

__

He couldn’t just leave Alphonse in Amestris to conduct the research alone. 

__

Ed shrugged at Sirius, and tried his best to convey in English words that alchemy and magic might have some similarities and that he wanted to study them. “Study for Amestris. Amestris government. I have write down study, send back to Amestris. For mission.” 

__

It took a few sentences, then Sirius sighed, and told him the location of the bookroom, pointing in the direction of the room with his wand. “There. It’s unlocked. If you see anything that could be Dark-Magic-related or  _ anything  _ that looks suspicious there, tell me.”

__

Ed thanked Sirius then headed towards the bookroom. 

_ /-/-/-/-/ _

The door to a room Hermione had never seen the inside before was slightly ajar, but as she went to close it there was a large  _ thud  _ that came from inside the room. 

She opened the door, entered the room and closed the door behind her. It was a fairly small room but it was still full of bookshelves with books she had never seen, probably with knowledge she yearned to get her hands on. She was still looking around the room, looking at the shelves, when she noticed Edward Elric a minute later, books open and closed all scattered around him. There was a book in his hand that he had picked out, but Hermione noticed that his grip on the book was loosening. “Edward-” she began.

Hermione was too late, and the book fell on Edward’s head with a loud sound. Edward yelled something in a foreign tongue that Hermione suspected was nothing good, rubbing his head. “Are you alright, Edward?” 

He grunted, still rubbing his head with one hand and using the other to pick up the fallen book. He shook his head. “No, am fine. Thank you.”

Hermione walked towards him, and picked up an open book she was about to step on. It had a black leather bound cover, gold lettering spelling out the title:  _ Magical Theory of the Body, Mind and Soul.  _ The pages that were open depicted a diagram of the human body, labelled with several notes. Edward watched her, and while his expression was blank, Hermione guessed that he did not want her here.

“This is…” 

“Got allowed,” he said gruffly. 

“Well…” Hermione handed  _ Magical Theory of the Body, Mind and Soul  _ back to Edward. “Be careful. Sirius’ family has plenty of objects that could be dark or cursed. Books included.” 

Edward sat down on the floor, cross-legged, opening the book he had just gotten back to the diagram of the human body. “He said he took out all bad dark books. No curse. I no think it does.” 

Hermione sat down next to him, a question lingering in her head. She decided to voice her thoughts out loud and ask Edward. “Is this part of alchemy research?”

He widened her eyes at her and nodded. “For… for Amestris. Write down, study. For Amestris government.” 

“Could you tell me a little about alchemy? Please?” Hermione asked suddenly, and Edward looked at her as if she had suddenly jumped out of somewhere to frighten him. He said nothing, but Hermione continued, “It’s just curiosity! All your books…” Hermione gestured to the titles of the books surrounding Edward. “They talk about the body and soul and the spirit. That has to be alchemy-related, somehow.” 

“‘Just curiosity’?” Ed stared at Hermione, and bored his golden eyes into hers, unconvinced. 

Hermione sighed. “I am curious! I’ve been interested in it since you came,” she admitted. “I mean, judging by you and Mr Mustang, alchemy isn’t what we wizards think it is.” At Edward’s blank expression slowly morphing into a curious, thoughtful one, she continued, “I mean, there’s a huge chance that your alchemy isn’t a magic that turns everything into gold with the Philosopher's Stone. So… could you teach - I mean, tell me a little about the basic laws and principles.”

If alchemy was a power used in an institution like the military, Hermione mused, then it must be a powerful power indeed. It wouldn’t hurt to learn more about it. 

She had a burning desire to learn alchemy and use it a little, but she controlled herself. Asking Edward to teach her alchemy was all too sudden. 

“Not magic, science.” Edward nodded at his own words, and said, “Alchemy all about understanding matter and earth energy. It is…” Hermione nodded at Edward, in both understanding of the topic and encouragement, as he had been struggling to find the word. “De...decon...Destruction? Not destruction. Break down something, rebuild that to something else with the same material. Power comes from the earth. Earth energy. Circle helps. Understand?”

Hermione nodded. Edward continued, “Alchemy has one big rule.” He muttered something in Amestrian, then looked behind him, taking out a piece of parchment and reading through it. He then placed the parchment down and continued, “Equivalent Exchange. That is a big rule. If you… get… make something, something with equal… equal value is lost. Like an equal swap.” 

“Like an eye for an eye,” Hermione said. 

“If this what you say in English, then yes,” Edward agreed. “For example, make new thing from other thing made of water. Cannot make wool from sheep. Brings us to… he looked behind him, most likely to the piece of parchment. “Law of Conservation of Mass. Not big rule but still a rule. For example, you have something one kilogram. One kilogram of things needed to make it.”

She stored this information in her head, and continued nodding. “So the Law of Conservation of Mass is a sub-law?”

“Sub-law… a rule under big rule, yes. There is another law. Law of Natural… I not know word for English. Think it is another word for ‘god’.”

“There’s a few synonyms that come to mind, but I’m not sure if the direct synonyms work with the name. There are related words, though. Like fate, destiny, luck, providence-”

“Providence! That is word.” From the pocket of his jacket, he brought out a fountain pen and opened it, taking the parchment from before, and attempting to write it down. He struggled to find the correct spelling, so Hermione lended her assistance. “Law of Natural… Providence. If something is made out of one material. If something is made out of certain material, alchemy can change the thing to another but it has same amount of same material.”

“So…” Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So if there was something mostly made out of water, alchemy can only turn it into something else with the attributes of water.”

Edward nodded, and was about to return to his books, when Hermione asked another question. “Isn’t there any way to bypass the law, or overturn it? Or is there something that disregards alchemy’s laws completely?” 

Hermione watched as Edward hesitated. He stared down at the floor, his golden bangs making it impossible for Hermione to see the expression concealed underneath. Then Edward looked up and sighed, replying, “One way.”

She nodded, waiting for Edward to continue, which he did, saying, “There is thing everyone knows about alchemy. Alchemy turn to gold. And… Philosopher’s Stone.” She widened her eyes at that. “You know what it is, right? Everyone thinks alchemy is all about it. But I think no alchemist from Amestris ever see Philosopher’s Stone before. Only a legend. Legend of a red stone. Red like blood. Can do alchemy without alchemy rules. Without alchemy laws. Some people say you can make it. It can do many things. Legend says it can even bring back dead people.” 

Hermione looked at him, her mouth slightly open.  _ That can’t be right.  _ She remembered the Philosopher's Stone from three and a half years ago, from her first year at Hogwarts. A blood-red stone. Looking back, Hermione recalled that while Harry had been the one who had attained the Stone shortly before the Stone’s destruction, there were no alchemical powers attributed to it. And the Stone could be made? Wasn’t there only one in existence? Wasn’t Nicolas Flamel the one who made the Stone? 

She hadn’t realised that she had been muttering these thoughts aloud, and in the silence between her and Edward, she was sure the latter had heard her. He froze, eyes widened just like Hermione’s when he began talking about the Philosopher’s Stone. 

“How about the Elixir of Life?” she asked Edward suddenly. 

“Elixir of… Life?”

“If you keep on drinking the Elixir, you can live beyond your normal lifespan and live forever, isn’t that right? It’s a liquid from the Philosopher’s Stone-”

“No such thing,” Edward said, shaking his head. “What did you mean when you said Harry had Stone? Harry Potter had Philosopher’s Stone?” 

Hermione cursed out quietly for voicing her thoughts aloud without her even realising it. She gave in and decided to tell Edward. Maybe he could help answer her questions about the Stone, because she was sure things weren’t adding up. “Back in our first year at Hogwarts. There was a Philosopher’s Stone, and You-Know-Who was trying to steal it to become more powerful because the Stone had the Elixir of Life that could make him immortal. Harry got to the Stone.” 

“Philosopher’s Stone exists?” Edward said slowly, as if trying to absorb that information, but Hermione noted the slight hint of excitement in his voice. “It exist? Where is Stone now?”

Hermione hesitated. She sighed, and said, “... It’s gone now.” Edward opened his mouth to reply, but she continued, “When Harry got the Stone, he ended up meeting You-Know-Who and almost got killed by him, and the Stone got destroyed.” 

Edward looked down at the ground in silence, then sighed. After what seemed like forever, he asked, “Did Stone have alchemy power?”

“What?” 

“Did Harry Potter or anyone else use the Stone for alchemy?” 

“I don’t think so,” Hermione replied, and Edward looked more downtrodden. “We all thought before you and Mr Mustang came that alchemy was magic that could turn things to gold and make you immortal. I don’t think anyone even knew you could use it in the way you’re probably thinking.”

Another pause, then Edward sighed again, muttering a few foreign words in Amestrian. “Well, that is all. All I will teach you. No more.”

“Can’t you teach me a little more?” Hermione asked. “About how to  _ do  _ alchemy? Please?”

Edward shook his head firmly, and Hermione received the message that nothing else would convince him. “No. Cannot change my mind. Alchemy takes long time to learn. Is hard. To train spirit for alchemy, must train body too.” She opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but Edward resumed, saying, “I taught you laws of alchemy. Go and read books. I do not feel you are ready to learn alchemy yet. Mustang will say no too. Maybe when I give think, maybe when you ready, maybe I will tell more. But for now-”

Hermione looked behind her as the door suddenly opened, cutting off Edward’s words. Standing at the door was Mr Mustang, who scanned his gaze around the room, from the bookshelves, to Hermione, to the books scattered among the floor, and Edward. In his deep voice he said, “Sirius Black said you were here. I need to speak with Edward.”

Edward frowned, and spoke back to Mustang in a tone of indignation in Amestrian. Mustang shot back to the former in the same language as well, a sly smile on his face. Edward, who had turned slightly red, raised his finger against the older alchemist, muttering foreign words that Hermione thought were probably nothing but colourful, as he picked up two or three books from the floor and placed them into a pile,  _ Magical Theory of the Body, Mind and Soul  _ included. He placed the rest of the books back into the bookshelf and took the books that he had kept for himself then promptly left, following Mustang who had given Hermione one final nod before he left. 

She stood, her mind still wandering to thoughts about the Philosopher’s Stone. She still had a lot of questions, but she was sure none of them would be answered today. She exited the room, heart thumping slightly faster than normal. 

_ /-/-/-/-/ _

_ “We’re going to have to talk, Fullmetal,”  _ Mustang explained in Amestrian.  _ “About the details of the mission.” _

_ “Now?”  _ Ed narrowed his eyes at the older man. In the same foreign tongue, he responded, as he laid himself down on the four-poster bed,  _ “I’m not interested. Protecting Harry Potter can be for when magic school starts.”  _ He tapped the books he had taken from the Black family’s bookroom beside him.  _ “I’m busy with research.” _

_ “No, not that,”  _ The Flame Colonel glared at him pointedly.  _ “You do remember that this mission is all about strengthening ties in the Amestrian-British political relationship?”  _

_ “Oh, that! Nope, never knew,”  _ Ed said in the most sarcastic tone he could muster, smirking afterwards. Annoying Colonel Bastard was a pastime he enjoyed a lot. 

_ “Shut up, shorty, and listen to what I have to say-” _

_ “WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MICROSCOPIC BEAN THAT USES ANTS FOR TRANSPORT-” _

_ “From what I heard from Mr Kingsley,”  _ Mustang sat down on a chair in the corner of their bedroom, completely disregarding Ed’s outburst,  _ “Harry Potter is to go on a hearing tomorrow.” _

Ed sat up from the bed, staring at the Flame Alchemist in disbelief.  _ “Hearing? Like court trial, or is that some word that means something else in wizard language…?” _

Mustang looked at him as if he were an idiot.  _ “A disciplinary hearing.”  _ When Ed opened his mouth to ask why, Mustang cut him off with a wave of his hand and continued,  _ “That’s what I gathered anyway. Something about using magic outside of school.”  _ (So  _ that  _ was why Ed had witnessed none of the kid wizards performing magic of any sort. That disappointed him.)  _ “He’ll be going to the Ministry of Magic headquarters or something to be trialled-” _ __  
  


_ “I’m not sitting through a court-trial with a bunch of old geezers telling off a magic kid for using magic, speaking in some language I barely know.”  _

_ “I already told you before, the mission is not just about Harry Potter but about politics and our countries’ relationships. The thing is, Mr Weasley told me at dinner today that Harry Potter will be accompanying him to the Ministry of Magic for his trial tomorrow. And we’re going to go with them, and meet the Minister for Magic to discuss plans for our stay in Hogwarts in September.” _

_ “Is it necessary?”  _ Ed was asking this as a genuine question. 

_ “The Fuhrer made it clear we are a delegation, Fullmetal. While Mr Dumbledore did request for us to look after Harry Potter during the Hogwarts school year, our main mission is still being a political delegation to improve the relations between Britain and Amestris. So yes, it’s very necessary.”  _

Ed made a disapproving noise with his mouth. He still was unconvinced that this was a necessary task to complete, and he showed it to Mustang with his expression. Sighing in exasperation, the older alchemist reached over to the small desk on the side of their bedroom and showed the younger a piece of parchment with neat cursive. 

_ “Kingsley Shacklebolt gave this to me today,”  _ Mustang explained, and Ed moved towards him to peer over his arm at the letter in the former’s hand. His eyes traced the first few words of the letter.  _ “It’s from the Minister. According to Shacklebolt, he was ordered by the Minister to see us into Britain. But since he’s part of the Order, he told Dumbledore and Dumbledore decided to pick us up instead.”  _

_ “It’s in Amestrian,”  _ Ed noted, bringing the subject back to the letter. Indeed, the whole letter was now  _ “Does the Minister know Amestrian like the Dumbledore guy?”  _

Mustang shook his head.  _ “Shacklebolt brought out his magic stick and did something called a ‘Translation Charm’ on it. I don’t know when the charm wears off, though, so you should start reading it, Fullmetal.”  _

He took the letter from Mustang’s hands and he went back to his bed. 

_ To the Amestrian alchemists concerned,  _

_ I would like to formally welcome you to Britain, upon my knowledge that you have arrived to our country safely.  _

_ I would like to keep this letter brief, and matters short, so I will get straight to the point: _

_ To officially welcome you to our country, and to discuss your roles in the upcoming school year during your time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as part of the Amestrian-British agreement, I cordially invite you to the Ministry of Magic office tomorrow morning. There I will give you further instructions on your mission and hopefully get off to a good start to an improvement to the relations between our two countries, as well as help you get accustomed to the ways of the magical world.  _

_ I expect to see you tomorrow.  _

_ Yours faithfully,  _

Cornelius Fudge

_ Minister for Magic _

__

_ “How do we even get there?”  _ Ed put on a sour face as his eyes reread the letter.  _ “He didn’t even tell us how to get there! He didn’t even tell us what time we’re meant to be there! Are you sure he’s the Minister?”  _

_ “Fullmetal,”  _ Mustang chastised, glaring at him with his black eyes.  _ “This is  _ important _ , as you can see. So both you and me will have to go to the Ministry tomorrow and talk to this Cornelius Fudge person.”  _

_ “It’s an invite,”  _ Ed told the older.  _ “Meaning we don’t have to accept it.”  _

_ “He’s the Minister, Fullmetal. When people like him say ‘invite’, they always mean it as an order. He even said ‘I expect you to be there’,”  _ Mustang added, reminding the younger.  _ “As for transportation, I already told you at the beginning. We’re accompanying Mr Weasley to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow. We’re going with them and Potter is coming too because of his hearing.”  _

Ed groaned and took one of the books he had obtained from the Black family bookroom, and tried to get immersed in the content, despite his mind still wandering off to the events of the next day. Then he suddenly sat up from the bed, which caused Mustang to almost jump. He looked back on the younger, eyebrow raised. 

_ “I remember something from today,”  _ Ed said.  _ “Just before you told me about all this I was with the Hermione girl.”  _

/-/-/-/-/

Harry had been ascending the stairs, feeling upset how Dumbledore had visited Grimmauld Place without checking on him. The stairs made a low creaking sound as he did, but as soon as the sound had been made, he looked up and saw Fred and George furiously placing index fingers on their lips in a ‘shush’ motion as their sides were pressed against a bedroom door. 

__

Upon seeing Harry’s confused look, George beckoned for him to join them. He crouched down alongside them, about to open his mouth to ask what they were doing, but Fred beat him to it and mouthed:  _ Be quiet.  _ He held up an Extendable Ear, and then the twins turned back towards the door. 

__

“What are you  _ doing?!”  _ Harry hissed, and the twins glared at him, making shushing gestures, then pointed to the Extendable Ear. “Give it a listen,” Fred whispered. “You might want to hear what they’re talking about.”

__

“Who…” Harry’s voice wavered away as he was handed the Ear. He moved closer to the door and held the Ear up, and was immediately greeted with the annoyed, loud voice of Edward Elric... in what seemed like perfect, fluent English. Harry widened his eyes in surprise upon hearing that. 

__

“-not sitting through a court-trial with a bunch of old geezers telling off a magic kid for using magic, speaking in some language I barely know!” 

__

_ How…  _ Harry opened his mouth, but the twins quickly shushed him again, just in time for Mustang to say, “...And we’re going to go with them, and meet the Minister for Magic to discuss plans for our stay in Hogwarts in September.”

__

His eyes widened larger, and he bit his lip which was trembling slightly in anger. The Minister? Harry was about to wonder why the two Amestrians needed an audience with Fudge when he remembered that this was the entire reason for their arrival into Britain in the first place. He returned his focus back to the Extendable Ear and the conversation. Ed seemed to feel like Harry towards this news, and he complained back.

__

Then, a sigh followed by a pause. Then, Harry heard Mustang’s voice breaks the silence: “Kingsley Shacklebolt gave this to me today. It’s from the Minister. According to Shacklebolt, he was ordered by the Minister to see us into Britain. But since he’s part of the Order, he told Dumbledore and Dumbledore decided to pick us up instead.” 

__

_ Dumbledore…  _ he remembered the sinking feeling he had felt just a while ago when he found out the old Headmaster had visited Grimmauld Place while Harry was asleep. He’d had enough time to take the two Amestrians, strangers the old man had never met before their first encounter, to Grimmauld, but not enough time (or the decency) to talk to Harry during his brief visit to the house. He moved his focus away from his troubling thoughts and back to the conversation on the other side of the door.

__

“Fullmetal.” Mustang’s voice boomed through the Extendable Ear. “This is important, as you can see. So both you and me will have to go to the Ministry tomorrow and talk to this Cornelius Fudge person.” 

__

Harry widened his eyes in shock at that statement, looking at Fred and George who had the same perplexed expressions. Fred mouthed to him,  _ Isn’t your hearing tomorrow?  _

__

A sinking feeling began taking over Harry again. He had almost forgotten, in the spur of the moment, his disciplinary hearing was taking place the following day.

__

“It’s an invite,” Elric said. “Meaning we don’t have to accept it.” 

__

“He’s the Minister, Fullmetal. When people like him say ‘invite’, they always mean it as an order. He even said ‘I expect you to be there’. As for transportation, I already told you at the beginning. We’re accompanying Mr Weasley to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow. We’re going with them and Potter is coming too because of his hearing.” 

__

Harry bit his lip in frustration. He knew Elric on the other side of the door was feeling annoyed by the whole situation as well, but for a different reason. Anger slowly boiled up in him as he remembered that the two alchemists were going to meet with a man who Harry was sure hated him and thought of him as an attention-seeking lunatic. 

__

“-I was with the Hermione girl.” George had shaken his shoulder, which also shook Harry out of his thoughts, and he held the Extendable Ear tighter upon the mention of Hermione’s name. He knew that by his sides, Fred and George were also now listening intently, not wanting to miss a single word now that Hermione was mentioned. 

__

“One of Harry Potter’s friends?” Mustang replied. 

__

“Yeah, her. She came up to me, you saw her, and she asked me to teach her a little about alchemy.” 

__

A brief pause. “Did you end up teaching her?”

__

“No, I said she wasn’t ready to. However, I did teach her some of the basic laws.” Harry heard a chuckle from the other end, from Elric. “I might have sounded like an idiot because of all the English words I didn’t know. But that’s not important. We were talking about alchemy… then the Philosopher’s Stone came into conversation.”

__

Harry turned to Fred and George in a mix of confusion and mild shock. Fred mouthed to him,  _ Didn’t the Philosopher’s Stone get destroyed? Because of that fiasco with you and You-Know-Who?  _

__

He settled his erratic breathing as Elric continued, “It exists. It’s not just a legend. It actually, really exists. And according to Hermione, Harry Potter had the Stone. Around the time when he was in his first year at school.” 

__

Harry cursed silently. How would Hermione easily let slip of something like the Philosopher’s Stone? He made a mental reminder to confront Hermione about this. 

__

“So?” Harry heard Mustang break the pause between the two alchemists. “What will that mean for you? Will you go and-”

__

“I can’t,” Elric snapped, poorly hiding the frustration in his tone. “Hermione said that Harry Potter met the dark wizard we’re meant to be protecting him from, and the Stone got destroyed.” There was a sigh, and then: “Colonel Bastard, have you heard of the Elixir of Life before?” 

__

“No. Why?” 

__

“Hermione told me the Stone had a liquid called the Elixir of Life before. She said if you kept drinking it you could live longer than your normal lifespan should be. Almost immortal. But it’s not in any of the alchemical texts I’ve read. And the military has plenty of top-secret alchemy resources and research.”

__

“I haven’t heard of it either,” Mustang replied. “But could the Stone really have an Elixir? That can’t be possible. The legend only states that it can help an alchemist perform alchemy without having to abide with alchemy’s most important laws. I’ve never heard of an Elixir of Life.” 

__

Harry heard a groan through the Extendable Ear. Mustang continued, “Don’t be too angered by the situation, Fullmetal. It might not even be an actual Philosopher’s Stone. After all, this is a world tied to magic, not alchemy.” 

__

“Yes, but I thought-” Then the conversation abruptly switched to a foreign language Harry had only heard in the past two days, when those two alchemists had been conversing privately with one another.  _ Amestrian.  _

__

He slowly got to his feet. Fred and George followed him as they retreated to Harry’s bedroom, the door closing behind them. For a few minutes, the three boys sat in silence, a strong sense of perplexity and confusion regarding what they had just heard lurking in the air like a bad smell. 

__

Then, George broke the quietude.

__

“They must be here looking for the Philosopher’s Stone. There’s no doubt about it.”

__

Fred agreed. “That Elric guy… he seemed very annoyed when he found out the Stone was destroyed. He even said ‘it’s not in any of the alchemical texts I’ve read.’ It’s  _ clear  _ that he’s looking for the Stone?”

__

“How did you do that?” Harry broke into the twins’ exchange abruptly. “The alchemists can’t speak fluent English… can they?” 

__

Fred and George exchanged looks, then smirked gleefully at Harry. 

__

Translation Charm, they said it was called. According to the twins, they had learned it by copying their father a year or two back, the spell being around sixth-year level. Fred said the charm could easily translate any language, whether it be the foreign texts of a book or, like what they had just intruded in, a conversation in an alien tongue. “The longer the Charm lasts is how good you are at casting it,” George grinned. “Before when we tried it, the charm only lasted a minute or so but now it works a treat for us.” 

__

Harry sighed. “Okay, a Translation Charm. But the Philosopher’s Stone…” His mind was racing with thoughts as it replayed the conversation. Was that why they had accepted the mission? Did their country’s know about this, or the existence of the Stone itself? He knew that the Philosopher’s Stone played an essential part in alchemy, common knowledge had taught him that, but until now it had never crossed his mind that the alchemists could have sought after it. 

__

However, it seemed that even the alchemists’ knowledge of the Stone was limited. Harry remembered Elric had said that there was barely anything on the Philosopher’s Stone in any of his research, and both Amestrians had expressed no prior knowledge of the Elixir of Life at all. Was that why they had come to Amestris…? Were Fred and George right?

__

And in the unlikely event there was another Stone in existence and the alchemists acquired it, what did they want with the Stone? What was their purpose? 

__

_ Alchemists in the military…  _ Would they use it for military purposes? Was that their motive? The thought disgusted him. 

__

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Harry warned the twins.

__

“Alright, but don’t think we’re going to drop this subject between the two of us anytime sooner,” Fred promised, then the two of them Apparated out of his room with a large  _ pop.  _

__

Harry stood and began to change into his pyjamas. He had more pressing matters to attend to, he mused; the disciplinary hearing was taking place tomorrow where it would be decided whether he was allowed to return to Hogwarts. But the thoughts of Elric and Mustang’s true motives lingered in his mind, and Harry decided that it would be prudent to tell Hermione and Ron once he returned from the Ministry. 

Then he remembered. The Ministry. Edward and Mustang would be there. They would be accompanying him and Mr Weasley for the journey to the Ministry. He reminded himself to keep an indifferent composure around them tomorrow, so that his expressions would not give anything away. 

But he shook his head. _Stop thinking about it. Don't worry about them. You might not even go back to Hogwarts. Think about it when the hearing's over._

_But what if you don't go back to Hogwarts?_ Another voice spoke up in his mind.

"Shut up," Harry growled, to no-one in particular. "I'll think about everything tomorrow."

He laid down on his bed, pulled the blanket over him, and by the time Ron had entered the bedroom, Harry was fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long wait. Any kind of constructive criticism regarding any aspect of the story is welcome. Thank you for reading this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Note of Setting: This is, assuming, Ed’s arm is completely fixed, without that missing bolt (which did cause plenty more problems for the Elric Brothers), meaning this story takes place after the brothers and Major Armstrong leave Resembool, but instead of encountering Marcoh, they are summoned to East City HQ instead. 
> 
> This is an edited rewrite of its original version, written also by myself in FanFiction.net under the same name and the pen name of 'little-anonymous-me.'


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